Unrequited Love
by Mara-Amber
Summary: mmm, a small fic about Saitou Tokio... WARNING: it is sad and 'bloody' REPOST COMPLETE
1. 1 version, Tokio's POV

Standard disclaimers:  
I'm not Watsuki and don't own Ruroken though I wish I did.  
All rights belong to Shueisha, Sony and only the hell knows whom else.  
As always similarities to the real, historic Saito Hajime are pure coincidence  
and most likely non-existing =^^=.  
  
WARNING: I'm not a native speaker, mayor grammar and vocabulary mistakes might  
be ahead, hopefully you will not be distracted by them.  
  
Not to confuse you: The story is about Saitou Hajime/Tokio.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
UNREQUITED LOVE 1.VERSION  
  
  
I'm looking down at the dagger in my hand, feeling the cold sensation of a   
winters day on my skin, the sun sets early at this time of year, it is   
already dark outside.  
  
Yoichi is dead. When I finally had the chance of visiting him, he had   
already died. Died on a disease, no doctor had been able to help him.   
  
WHY? He was my reason to stay alive, the light in my darkness.  
  
I had to marry another man.  
  
I didn't want to, but I had no alternative, my parents had chosen the   
suitable husband for me.  
  
I had no chance to refuse the marriage with Saitou Hajime.   
  
Living for the short moments I could cast a quick glance at Yoichi, on   
the streets of Tokyo, speaking to him, even a few words lightened my day.  
  
Does Hajime know that I don't love him? I do everything for him, I try  
to be a loving, caring, understanding wife, is that enough for him?  
I think so.  
  
Giving him three sons, raising them, educating them, each of them old enough   
now to live on his own.   
  
Hajime is proud of his sons, they have his 'warrior's spirit'.   
  
But they all mean nothing to me in return, the only person I really cared for   
was dead.  
  
I always wished it would be HIS sons, I always dreamed to be hold by HIM   
while pretending different. Smiling warm and loving while thinking of HIM.  
  
Is there something worth living for?  
  
Every time Hajime leaves for one of his duties, leaving me behind, I'm   
relieved deep down. I paid attention not to show him.  
  
Is it enough for him to own me? Does he care about my emotions?   
  
I think he does. But I am not able to reciprocate his feelings.  
  
Has he ever seen my real emotions? Does it hurt him?  
  
Yoichi, I love you, only you.  
  
Raising the dagger to my throat.  
  
"Tokio? I'm home."  
  
Is there something worth living for? Not any longer. Concentrating.  
  
Stabbing the dagger into my carotid artery.  
  
Hearing the sliding door opening behind me.  
  
"Tokio!"  
  
I close my eyes. This pleasant feeling of relief, feeling my life   
leaving me. I won't have to pretend any longer to be someone I wasn't.   
Pretend emotions I simply don't have.   
  
There is no chance to live one's life again. Did I do the wrong thing?  
  
"Tokio!" He takes me in his arms, I drop the dagger, feeling blood running   
down my neck, falling to the ground.  
  
"Tokio, stay with me." He holds me with one arm, trying to stop   
the flow of blood out of the wound with his other hand. I sense his   
desperation, it was too late to keep me alive. Death comes.  
  
I feel a hand on my cheek and open my eyes, staring directly in his   
features. He has regret in his eyes, looking unbelieving into my face,   
trying to spot my real emotions.  
  
"Tokio," He caresses my cheek "Why did you do this?"  
  
"It is too late, Hajime." I close my eyes again, comforting darkness   
around me.  
  
Yoichi, I've waited so long for you, why? Why did I deny my love for   
you till you were dead? I had more than thirty years to tell you.  
  
"Tokio, I love you."  
  
Too late.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Stabbing the dagger into the carotid artery is the kind of suicide a wife of a  
samurai chose, after her husband had to commit suicide.   
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
written in February 2002  
re-posted in December 2002  
  
I hope you enjoyed it.  
  
Ja ne,  
  
Mara 


	2. 2 version

Standard disclaimers:  
I'm not Watsuki and don't own Ruroken though I wish I did.  
All rights belong to Shueisha, Sony and only the hell knows whom else.  
As always similarities to the real, historic Saito Hajime are pure coincidence  
and most likely non-existing =^^=.  
  
WARNING: I'm not a native speaker, mayor grammar and vocabulary mistakes might  
be ahead, hopefully you will not be distracted by them.  
  
Not to confuse you: The story is about Saitou Hajime/Tokio.  
  
The POV changes several times, I hope it works and is understandable,  
please tell me if not.  
  
Of course the ending is different :-), I can write a bit more here than  
in the other version.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
UNREQUITED LOVE 2.VERSION  
  
  
  
She was kneeling in the middle of a closed room, her long black hair falling   
open down her back, reaching the sole of her feet. The first white hairs   
that could be seen indicated that she was not in her youngest years anymore.   
Feeling the sensation of a cold winters night on her skin she shivered.  
Thoughtfully she looked down at her hands, a dagger was lying in them, her   
fingertips were already a bit blue from the cold air, barely discernible for   
the sun was already setting down and the last ray of light faded from the room.  
She raised her head and the look of her deep-brown eyes got lost somewhere in   
the distance, lost in some memories, not recognisable for an outside observer.  
The cold steel of the blade in her left hand, the cold hilt of the dagger in   
her right hand were her only connection to reality while thinking about the   
last weeks.  
  
Why was she sitting here? What happened?  
For some weeks a dear friend of her had been seriously ill, nobody had   
considered it worth mentioning when she was around. She had wondered why she   
had not seen him on the streets for a longer time and finally she had decided   
to ask a mutual friend. She informed her of Yoichi's disease. Nobody had   
thought of telling her about his illness, nobody considered it important for   
her to know earlier. When she was told at last she tried to visit him, but she  
had been too occupied with her duties and obligations for the last days. When   
she was finally standing in front of his house, she was told that he already   
was dead. Died on a disease, no doctor was able to help him, she was too late.  
There was so much she would have wanted to have told him, but she never had   
the courage. She knew him for thirty years, but she never found the courage.  
It had been so much easier to deny her feelings.  
  
She said nothing when her father ordered her to marry Saitou Hajime, she  
didn't offend him, she had accepted it, knowing there was no real chance for a  
life together with Yoichi. She remained silent, she denied her love for him.  
  
After all she knew that there was always a chance to meet him on the streets,  
to cast a glance at him or to speak with him. Living for these short moments,  
living for an unfulfilled dream. The dream has died together with him, was   
there still something worth living for?  
  
She did everything for her husband, tried to be a loving, caring,   
understanding wife, but was that enough? Giving it a try? Smiling warm and   
loving while thinking of another man? Lying beside him, feeling his body   
close, pretending to enjoy him while thinking of Yoichi.  
  
Did he care about her emotions, did he notice that she was pretending?  
Would this chance anything?  
  
Giving birth to three children, educating them, noticing her husband's pride   
while watching them. Inwardly hoping it would be Yoichi's sons and Yoichi's  
pride.  
  
Their sons were grown up now, all three working successful in respectable jobs,  
two of them already married having children. They wouldn't need her anymore.  
The one love she had lived for was gone, Yoichi was dead.   
She should have done this earlier when she had realised what she had missed in  
her life. To tell Yoichi that she loved him, the last chance to put things   
right. The last chance was gone with his death. Had it been a mistake to agree  
to the marriage, to spent her live with Hajime?  
  
There is no chance to live one's life again. You only have one try, no  
room, no space for committing an error.   
  
Gropingly with her left hand she searched for the pulse in her throat and   
raised the dagger with her right hand to the spot. Hesitating a last time,   
she heard Hajimes footsteps on the wooden floor, he was looking for her. Was   
there something worth living for? Remembering Yoichi's always friendly, kindly  
face. Not any longer. She concentrated and stabbed the dagger into her carotid  
artery.  
  
***  
  
It had been a terrible day for him. He was sure, he was only surrounded by   
incompetent idiots. If you want to get a job done correct and conscientious you  
can only rely on yourself. This slovenly, shallow police-man who investigated   
the murder of the politician this day missed an important body of evidence at   
the scene of the crime, asked the wrong persons the wrong questions, sent the   
eye witness home. On top of that he lost the name and the address of the   
witness to the crime on his way to the police station. The report he had been   
given was worth a piece of shit. If this was the human material the new   
government relied on this era wouldn't last very long, he smirked   
sarcastically.  
  
He shivered and pulled his cape closer around him, this winters night   
promised to become an extraordinary cold one.  
But there was his house, his wife would already be waiting for him, they would  
spent a relaxing, peaceful evening together, his duties wouldn't bother him   
the rest of the evening anymore. He could get rid of the memories of the   
annoying underlinings he had to deal with. Sliding the front door aside he   
stepped into the house.  
  
"Tokio? I'm home."  
  
He took of his boots and sat his foot on the wooden floor, even the wood felt   
cold through his socks. Slightly irritated he narrowed his eyes, where was his  
wife? Usually she greeted him, he needed her warm, loving smile right now.  
He opened the door to the first room, took a short glance inside, she was not  
there, maybe in the next one? Opening the next door, but also no Tokio inside.  
His feeling of irritation got stronger, by now she should have noticed his  
presence, why was she not coming to greet him? A strange and annoying day.  
  
He opened the door to the last room downstairs she could be in and saw his   
wife kneeling in the middle of the room, her back facing him, a dagger in her   
hand, raised to her throat. What the hell was she doing there?  
The first drop of blood appeared on the shimmering blade and dropped to the   
floor. His eyes widened. She stabbed it in her throat? She was committing   
suicide?  
  
"Tokio!"  
  
He ran toward her, catching her body before it hit the floor and knelt down,  
unable to form a clear thought. What was going on here? What did he miss?  
What had threatened her, disturbed her so much that she ended her life?  
From what he had not been able to protect her? Her beautiful dark-brown eyes  
were closed, he wasn't able to spot her emotions without seeing into her eyes.  
  
"Tokio."  
  
Her eyes remained closed as he spoke to her gently, she couldn't been dead   
already, it happened only some seconds ago. He arranged her in his arms,   
supporting her upper body with one arm and his thighs, searching for the wound  
with his other hand. Maybe there was still a chance to keep her alive.  
  
"Tokio, wake up!"  
  
He found the wound, tried to close it with his fingers, but still there was   
blood coming out of it and he examined the spot closer.  
Pointless trying to stop her bleeding, she had hit the vital point, she had   
already lost to much blood. Her blood ran down her neck, soaking his sleeve,   
his trouser, the tatami he was kneeling on. Her weakening heart-beat, her   
pulse continued to ticker her blood out of her body. Futile. She would die.  
  
He laid a hand on her cheek and she opened her deep-brown eyes to look at him.  
What had happened? She had always seemed to be satisfied to him.  
He did only have this one chance, there was no second try.  
  
"Tokio," Gently he spoke to her, caressed her cheek "Why did you do this?"  
  
"It is too late, Hajime." She closed her eyes again. Eyes, he only knew with   
shining happiness and love in them, but now, short before her death he saw   
peace and satisfaction as if she had found an answer for an question she had   
been looking for a long time. 'too late?' For what? They had lived for twenty   
years together, there had been plenty of time, for what it could be too late   
then? Why didn't she want to stay alive? What was gone wrong?  
  
He hold her body close to him, feeling the slackening of her muscles, she was  
dead. He had never told her what he felt for her.  
  
"Tokio, I love you."  
  
He felt no reaction, he pulled her dead, limp body closer to him, it felt   
colder in his embrace with every second. He leaned his forehead against her   
hair, kissing her forehead gently, closing his eyes.  
  
"Why did you do this?"  
  
Her blood that soaked his jacket cooled down even quicker than her body, he   
didn't notice it. Why did she do this? Why did she throw her life away? What   
did she miss that she decided to take this radical, irreversible step? She   
seemed to be happy, satisfied, she never asked for anything, told him what she  
was missing. Why she did't tell? What did she hide from him? There was no   
answer, for none of his questions, she would not be able to tell him anymore.  
  
"Mum? Where are you?"  
  
He opened his eyes again, their youngest son was back home. What he was   
supposed to tell him? What could he tell him? Their sons always had a closer   
relationship to their mother than to him.  
Carefully he laid her body down on the floor, caressed her cheek a last time   
and stood up, heading towards the open sliding door. Reaching the door he   
turned, casting a last glance on his dead wife lying in a pool of her own   
blood in the middle of the room, her hair lying around her. He closed his   
eyes, he would always remember the sight. But he also would always remember   
her body close to him, her scent, her love. He opened his eyes again.  
  
"Father?" His son came around the corner and saw him "Here you are! I can't   
find mum, where is she?"  
  
Hajime closed the sliding door and looked at his son who approached him  
  
"Why don't you two use a lantern? You can't see a damn thing in this dark   
house! I already fell over a box standing in the way at the entrance."  
  
Suddenly he realised the strange face expression and composure of his father   
and narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Dad? Is something wrong?"  
  
His father wasn't moving, just staring at him, it sent shivers down his spine.  
Suspiciously he reached out his hand to touch his father's arm to wake him up   
of his stupor, but he quickly retreated as his hand touched the icy, wet   
material. He looked at his hand, it was covered with a dark liquid, he raised   
his hand to his nose. The warmth of his hand made the dark liquid smell in the  
cold air.  
  
"Your sleeve is soaked with blood! Father! What happened here?"  
  
Roughly his father pushed him aside and walked in the direction of the   
bath-house. He lost his footing, entirely surprised by the sudden movement   
of his father.   
  
"FATHER!"   
  
His father turned to face him once more and the words died in his throat for   
he showed a face expression he had never seen on him before, something must be  
damn wrong.  
  
"Your mother is dead, son."   
  
Turning around again his father continued walking towards the bath-house,   
leaving his son behind dump-folded, with wide-open eyes, standing rooted to   
the place. What did he say? 'Your mother is dead?' It must be a mistake, he   
must have heard wrong, she had been healthy and energetic as ever this   
morning.   
  
It must have something to do with room he had just seen his father leaving.   
After some seconds he opened the door to the room and the sight let make his   
blood run cold.  
  
He saw his mother lying in her blood, her hair spreading around her, her dagger  
lying beside her, her cheek was bloodied, the wound in her throat obvious.  
He remembered his mother when his father was not around, her happiness, her   
cheerfulness, her slightly different behaviour.  
His conclusion was clear and his accusation serious as he ran in the   
direction of the bath-house, stopping right behind his father, grabbing   
his arm, turning him around, staring up at his face.  
  
"You killed her! You cold-hearted bastard!"  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Stabbing the dagger into the carotid artery is the kind of suicide a wife of a  
samurai chose, after her husband had to commit suicide.   
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
written in February 2002  
re-posted in December 2002  
  
I hope you enjoyed it.  
  
Ja ne,  
  
Mara 


End file.
